


one hundred and sixteen days

by amyelouise



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M, Gillovny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyelouise/pseuds/amyelouise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's going to be a very long 116 days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although these are real people, this is purely fiction.
> 
> Enjoy! X

His sharp rap on the door is precisely on time, 7 o'clock on the dot, and I remove myself from the safe confines of my soft armchair to let him in. I still stand on my tiptoes to peak through the small peephole, out of habit more than anything else, and I see his familiar lanky frame stood in the hallway, his head cast down staring at his shoes as he waits for me to open the door. I undo the lock and his head snaps up, his eyes searching mine for something different than the last time we met. He doesn't find what he's looking for and I congratulate myself for keeping such a cool poker face. He gives me a guilty smile as he walks past me into my living room, shucking off his coat so it dangles on the arm of the chair I was just sitting in, although it slips off almost immediately. I notice with some dismay that he doesn't bend to pick it up and I'm reminded that indeed, old habits do die hard. He slumps down, his calloused fingers drumming nervously against the fabric as he waits for me to sit next to him on the adjoining couch. His medical records are already laid out neatly before us on the coffee table and as soon as I rest myself into the corner of the sofa, he speaks, breaking the silence.

"How ya been Dana?" 

I internally wince at the use of my first name, but it was a measure we put in place to keep some distance between us during these check ups. He was my Mulder and I was his Scully, but when I stopped being his Scully, I became Dana. Dr Dana Scully, his personal physician. Not his Scully. I collect myself quickly and give him probably the only ounce of personal detail I've given him in a month.

"I'm good Fox, how are you feeling lately?" My voice is level, and I stop myself from making too much eye contact with him, my gaze fixating on the papers below me.

"I've been fine. My sleeping hasn't changed, nor has my eating. I go for a run every day. I keep myself busy around the house. My days haven't changed since the last time you asked." He had a habit of doing this, rushing through every question I had to ask him so we'd have an excess amount of time where he could talk to me about anything and everything. I know he is lying. I can tell by the nervous squint in his eyes and the fact that his nails are digging crescent shaped grooves into my chair. I grab my notepad and begin scribbling, pretending to listen to his tales of restful nights. 

_Appears thinner, face more gaunt. Probably not eating well. Doesn't run, maybe goes for an occasional walk. Pale - doesn't leave the house._

"Your sleep is not interrupted? No nightmares?"

I can see his knuckles whiten with pressure as he shakes his head and gives me a resounding "No." His lips form a thin smile. "I haven't had them in weeks." I return the gesture and look back at my pad.

_Nightmares - not often but enough to disrupt his cycle._

"Okay Fox. Bathroom." I point towards the open door behind us with my pen. "Step on the scales." His hands come up in surrender and he doesn't leave his spot even though I'm already a few steps away from the couch.

"Saved you the trouble Doc." His hand reaches into his jeans pocket and he pulls out a crumpled piece of lined paper. His hand stretches out towards me and he transfers the paper to me. I read the messy scrawl of his weight and height, 187 pounds and 184 centimetres respectively. My eyes flicker between his note and my own as I scribble down on my pad.

_Probably around 160. Muscles lack tone._

I give him another smile, and he relaxes knowing I've taken his information into consideration. Instead of sitting, I walk over to my medical bag, and I can feel his eyes on me as I bend over to grab the handle. I perch myself on the arm of his chair and he slouches into the seat, his legs spread, and I think of a time when I would have straddled his open lap, my mouth slanted over his. I fit my stethoscope into my ears and he lifts up his t-shirt wordlessly. He jumps slightly as the cold metal hits his warm skin and I position it over his heart, bending over him and listening intently. He takes a deep breath without me asking him and I analyse the steady beats I hear.

His blood pressure is next as I wrap the cuff around his arm, and I see his fingers itch to graze against my thigh that stands precariously close to his hand. I go over to my pad again, scribbling notes that mean nothing to him. 

"Last but not least." I see him wince as I bring over the small packages and I leave them in front of him as I go to wash my hands. He never quite liked me drawing his blood but the whole procedure is over in minutes and I'm thankful that it gives me the space from Mulder that I so desperately need. His mere presence alone sets me on edge and his body in close proximity to mine blurs the rules that we have rigidly set out to define our relationship. 

I walk into the kitchen to store his sample and I glance back at him, his hand firmly pressing a fresh gauze against his puncture wound. He stares at the opposite wall and I notice not for the first time that he looks so sad. I long to walk over to him and wrap my arms around his neck, knowing the immediate smile I'd get as a response. But it was those kind of actions that sent us both on a path of self-destruction.

I return to him holding two mugs of steaming coffee and he leans forward to take it from my hands. He murmurs a quiet thank you and I begin cleaning up his medical papers, stealing quick glances at him sipping from his mug. 

"M. F. Luder got a letter from someone last week, apparently they've been reading his online blog." I lift my eyebrow to feign interest but I couldn't care less what Mr Luder gets up to in his spare time. I yearn for the day Mulder bends the rules slightly and tells me what F. W. Mulder gets up to in his daily life. I want him to sit down and talk to me about what he watched on TV yesterday, or how badly he burnt his meal last week. I miss our talks about nothing. I don't miss his obsession with the unknown that plagued our relationship until it's untimely death. 

"A couple living in Atlanta were digging up their garden to put in a lovely garden pool - they even sent me measurements - when they came across this little object in the upturned dirt." My eyes follow his nimble fingers and they pluck a small black cube from his jacket pocket. "They kept it on their kitchen countertop, mainly out of curiosity and, I quote, "it made quite a lovely ornament"." I snicker at his Georgian accent and don't miss the smile that flashes across his face at my response. "They said that they had an 'out of body experience' after a few days of digging up the artefact."

I put down my coffee, my interest peaked against my better judgement. "And what was said 'out of body experience'?" My fingers come up in the air to make quotation marks and my body warms at the familiarity of our playful banter.

"Well Dana, they claim that the husband, Mr Chaudhri, switched "bodies" with another version of himself from an alternate universe, where he wasn't married to his wife and had no recollection of it. They went to the hospital for tests but doctors could find no evidence of head trauma or amnesia. Mrs Chaudhri is convinced it's the cube." His head tilts towards the offending object, now sitting neatly on my coffee table. "You see, it lasted 116 days exactly. And what, Dr Scully, lasts 116 days?"

I stare at the matte cube and back at him, my mind racing at all the possibilities. "I'm not sure exactly, there aren't any biological cycles that last that long. Is it something astrological? Maybe to do with the occult or zodiac?"

"Think physics." He's challenging me and he knows I'm always up for the fight. I mentally scan my brain, my eyes fluttering closed as I concentrate. I hit jackpot within a minute and smile.

"It could be an orbital period, I think the Mercury-Earth synodic period is around 120 days. It's how long it takes for Mercury and Earth to re-align along their orbits." It's his turn to smile at the sound of my confidence remark. 

"Bingo!" He clasps his hands together with a loud smack and leans forward resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, Mrs Chaudhri believes that this cube has somehow travelled from Mercury to Earth and ended up in her backyard. And that's where you come in. I need you to take this to your scientist buddies and get them to analyse the cube, see what it's made of." He leans forward, almost expecting my obvious rebuttal.

"No Fox. I won't play these games anymore." I push the cube towards him with a level of anger that he must appreciate, as he sits back in his chair and sighs, defeated.

"Okay, _Dana_. It was worth a shot." My first name is a curse word on his lips and he spits it out as if it were venom. It is a reminder. A reminder that I was once Scully and he was once Mulder and together we had each other's backs, facing the impossible. It is a reminder that we used to be a team. The friendly banter has disappeared and in its wake is a cold, steely silence that suffocates me. 

I hide my face into my coffee cup and I watch as he throws the contents of his to the back of his throat, taking large gulps. 

"I best be off Doc. Keep the cube. Think of it as a present." And with that he's already putting on his jacket and making long strides towards my front door. I try desperately to catch up with him, aiming to fix at least something that we broke. My hand rests on his upper arm and he stills, looking back at me. I stumble over my words, regretting stopping him in the first place, and I snatch my hand back so it swings limply by my side.

"Same time next month Fox. Try to eat some balanced meals, maybe join the gym, bulk up a bit." He nods a little at me, his feet shuffling as he grasps onto my olive branch.

"Okay Dana. Sleep well."

He's gone seconds after and I busy myself by cleaning up the kitchen, the sound of the lock clicking shut ringing in my ears. I yawn, my hand coming up to cover my mouth from no one in particular and I decide it's time for an early night. I run myself through my nightly ritual, pushing moisturiser into my skin and pouring myself a hot cup of caffeine-free tea. My clothes drop from my body and I lack the energy to fold them neatly into my wardrobe, the mess reminding me of a time when I didn't live alone. My apartment feels small all of a sudden, and I'm aware of the beat of my heart, it's dull thuds the only sound in my quiet little home.

Although it wasn't really my home. My home is down a dirt track in the middle of a field without neighbours or government officials around to spy on you. My home just walked out the door maybe thirty minutes ago. I slowly drift asleep, dreaming of a man who used to hold me, my fingers clasping the ring on the chain around my neck that I wore when I said "I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice some similarities between this and a fanfiction called 'Cubed'. This was pointed out to me by one of my betas. I haven't read that story, and I'd like to clarify that I based my 'cube' off a British series called The Sarah Jane Adventures (a spin off from Doctor Who) where a cube is entered into the series and alters reality for the protagonist. 
> 
> Thanks to my betas Carol, Kristyn and the great bird3000.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic, and it is a WIP! X


	2. Chapter 2

I'm having the most wonderful dream, a dream I often have after I've spent the night in Mulder's company. His fingers are sliding in and out of me and it's so real, I can feel the wetness pooling between my legs. I sigh, wanting the dream to last longer, my eyes staying shut to prolong the fantasy. It has been months since I have felt him next to me, in my bed. Almost a year actually, and I ache to have him inside me again, to feel his firm weight pressed above me as we join together. His fingers speed up inside me and I find myself spreading my legs instinctively, moaning quietly at the deliciousness of this illusion. 

I feel a wet hot heat seal itself around my right nipple and my eyes shoot open, the sensation too realistic to be in any dream. I'm confronted with the sight of Mulder's head buried into my breast, his hand pumping in and out of me. Dimly, I wonder what he is doing here, and why the hell he thinks he has the right and how he even got back into my apartment but my desire for him takes over and my eyes flutter closed once more and my back arches, pressing him closer to me. His teeth lightly bite down on my nipple and my hand moves of its own volition to tweak my other between my fingers. My toes curl as I feel his thumb brush against my clit and I hiss through my teeth. It's been so long since I've had this luxury. His thumb flicks against my sensitive bundle of nerves with increasing pressure and I feel my own orgasm building. I want to feel him inside me when I come, I want us to come in unison, together until the very end.

"Mul... Wah?" I can feel his knuckles bash against my inner thighs as he thrusts his fingers in and out of me with a ferocity I have yearned to feel. Suddenly his mouth detaches from my breast with a soft pop and I can feel his lips pressed against mine, his tongue seeking immediate entrance. I grant him it, drinking in his long lost, yet familiar flavour. His fingers withdraw from my centre and I whimper into his mouth but his body shifts on top of mine and I am greeted with the gentle prod of his hard cock against my stomach. I open my eyes to find him staring down at me as our lips crash together, and his usual hazel are dark with desire. I shudder as I feel his hips tilt and his length press along my folds, and my legs bend at the knees and wrap around his back as I position myself ready for his onslaught. 

I know I will regret this but I cannot stop the small yelp that emits from my mouth as he slides into me in one hard thrust. He gives me no chance to adjust and is already pumping into me, my body shaking underneath his. I can hear the wet slap of his skin against mine and one of my hands weaves it's way into his hair, the other grasping onto the headboard above me. His thrusts are even, with a finesse I didn't expect from a man who hadn't fucked for months, and I am surprised when he shows no signs of giving up. 

His mouth finds its way back to mine again like two magnets attracted to their polar opposites and his tongue mimics his dicks movements by pushing its way into my open mouth. My entire body moves with the force of his pushes against me and my other hand has to brace itself against the headboard to stop my head from colliding with it with every drive. My ankles dig into his firm ass, pushing his penetrations in deeper and his lips loosen from my swollen ones to let out a long groan. 

His lips trail a blazing fire of small pecks, sucks and bites down my jawline and into the space just above the straight of my clavicle. My eyes squeeze shut and I feel my fingernails dig into the soft wood of my headboard at his onslaught. His thrusts finally become more erratic and I can hear him mewing into my neck, his fingers marking my arms with small bruises as he clutches me.

"Oh god... Gillian." 

My eyes open wide and my mind buzzes over the foreign name spilling from his lips. My hands immediately let go of the headboard above me and they press onto his shoulders, pushing him off me. Mulder gives me a dazed, confused expression as I scramble backwards on the bed, sitting upright with the covers draped over my naked body. I notice it then. We weren't in my apartment. We weren't in my bed. The room is smaller than mine but much more elegant, the bed is bigger and there's a large oriental style wardrobe sitting opposite it. I look to my left and there's windows where my door should be, books strewn across every surface. There are paintings adorning every wall, and I can see possibly the most beautiful bathroom I've ever seen on the other side of the room. 

My eyes drift to Mulder, who now looks worried more than anything, still perched above me on all fours, his lower body covered by the bed sheets that aren't mine. I study his face and I see slight differences, he's cleanly shaven and his hair is shorter than it was the night before. He brings one of his hands up to ruffle through his hair and then it lands on my cheek, rubbing softly. 

"You okay, baby? Did I hurt you?" I'm still in shock and his soft spoken words don't reach me until he gives my cheek a slight squeeze. My eyes snap to his toned and muscular chest and then back up to his eyes which are still heavy with desire. The first emotion I register is anger and my hand slaps his palm away from my face and he moves back slightly with surprise at my outburst.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He opens his mouth like a fish and looks at me for a few moments, dumbfounded. "Who the fuck is Gillian?" Then his eyebrows crease together and he laughs a little, his body slouching slightly. I realise he's going to rest his head on my stomach so I jump out of bed, my feet hitting the plush carpet. I scramble around the room looking for my clothes but I find none that are mine. A silk robe hangs on the door of the wardrobe and it takes me only a few seconds to gather the courage to steal it and wrap it around my vulnerable body. I look back to the bed and Mulder has turned around, his eyes intently watching me.

"Baby, I think you're still pretty sleepy. Come here." His hand stretches out towards me but I ignore it, looking instead at the door I assume leads out of this mystery bedroom.

"Mul- Fox. Where are we?" My arms are crossed protectively around my chest and I curse the fact that this room is so small and this bed is so large because before I know it, his large hands are wrapped around my waist and he's pulling me against him, back onto the bed. I know my voice was stern but he doesn't look worried, just sympathetic.

"I think maybe I woke you up a little too early. Go back to sleep for a bit. I promise to be a gentleman." He's smiling at me now, wide, and I shuck off his embrace with disgust.

"How can you find this funny Fox? We shouldn't have done that. Why the fuck did you think you had the right to do that to me?" My eyes are watering and I can feel my small body shaking from both anger and the sudden cold than encapsulates me.

"Gilly, I think you're still dreaming. That's why it's funny." I look at him and then back at my surroundings. If it is a dream, it's too vivid, and I'd most likely label it as a nightmare. My body slumps against the wardrobe, my legs still wobbly from his ministrations and I can see he's reaching for me again. 

"Stop. Fox. Please. I can't do this." I walk away from the bedroom, out towards a hallway decorated in the same eclectic style as the one Mulder is in right now. I see a few Buddha statues dotted around me and I think maybe I'm having another vision, like I did back when Daniel briefly popped into my life again, although I cannot think of a reason for it. I'm walking down the corridor when I hear his large footsteps behind me and he grabs my arm, turning me around. I see he's wearing white Calvin Klein's, which I'm sure he's never worn before and I spot a tattoo on his ankle. 

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go down those stairs considering you don't even know you're in your own home. Back to bed for you young lady." He starts pulling me back and I try to resist, my feet bracing themselves against the hardwood floor, but he is too strong. "C'mon Gilly, what's going on with you?" His smile is slowly disappearing as he looks into my worried eyes and he changes tactic. He brings me to the floor so that I'm kneeling and he joins me there, his tall body still towering over me as his hands rest on my shoulders. He searches my face for something, although I'm not sure what exactly.

"Fox. Stop messing around." My voice is frail and lacks the fight that I wanted to portray to him. "Where are we?" My mind flashes to alien bounty hunters and waking up in a strange place around strange people after months of not knowing where you are or who you're with. Of cancer and implants and dying infants and men in dark suits who can't be trusted and memories being taken forever. 

"What's your name?" His question takes me by surprise but the sincerity in his expression makes me answer it.

"Dana Scully." 

"And how old are you?" 

"I'm 49." 

"Who am I?"

"You're Fox Mulder."

"And where was our first case together?" My brow furrows slightly at this question but I answer it without missing a beat.

"Oregon."

"What's your favourite episode?"

That question strikes me as odd and it's now my turn to look confused. "Muld... You mean, what's my favourite movie? Or what TV show?"

"No, what's your favourite episode of The X-Files?"

"Episode?! What the hell are you talking about? Are you talking about our cases?" He is expressionless as he waits for me to answer him. "I don't have a favourite case, Fox." He leans back on his calves and looks almost disappointed, his arms dropping to his sides. He leans forward and I think he's going to caress my arm but instead he pinches it, hard. I gasp and fall back, rubbing the offended area. "What the fuck Mulder?!"

He lets out a breath and falls back onto his calves. "You're really awake, aren't you?" I stare at him as if he's gone crazy, or maybe I've gone crazy. "Okay. Right. I don't really... Hm." He pulls me a little further down the corridor and stands me in front of a mirror. The first thing that hits me is my hair is blonde. It's longer too, with soft waves. He stands behind me, his tanned body a stark contrast to my pale skin. His chin rests on my silk shoulder and I feel myself shrinking into his body.

"Fox-"

"Ssh. I'm not Fox Mulder. I'm David Duchovny. You are Gillian Anderson. I don't know what the hell is going on but you're not Dana Scully. You play her on a TV show. You're an actress. We're both actors." He twirls me around to face him and holds my head in his hands. "You're confused, you're sleepy. Let's just go back to bed and when you wake up it'll be okay and we can laugh all this off as some sort of mid-life crisis." 

I resist his cooing and I think he realises it's going to be a tougher ride than just coaxing me back into bed. "I... I wouldn't feel comfortable with that... David." His name doesn't feel natural on my lips yet my heart almost breaks at the sight of his forlorn face. This man meant nothing to me, yet he was looking at me like I was his everything. I had to disassociate this man with my Mulder. 

I feel like I'm on the edge of having a nervous breakdown, still in a mystery house with a mystery man in a body that I only slightly recognise. My skepticism is waning as I stumble through my brain looking for the most logical answer. There was nothing logical about waking up in a stranger's bed with a stranger's name in a stranger's arms. I search for something tangible and suddenly I drop my robe, mimicking one of my first actions with the man that both is and isn't standing next to me. My embarrassment from my nakedness is only second to the determination I feel to find some sense in my situation. I turn my back to him and peer down at my behind over my right shoulder.

"If you're looking for your tattoo, it's not there." His finger touches my skin in a circle where my snake should be and it heats up under his graze. It's nice to know that my body reacts to him the way it has always done even if my mind doesn't. 

"I need proof." I say with a certainty I don't feel as I pull the robe back up my arms and secure the sash around my waist. He looks at me and nods, accepting my request and walks in front of me down a flight of stairs. He looks behind at me once to see if I am following, which I do, like a lost puppy. Or in fact, maybe a lost duckling who imprinted itself to the wrong mother - I have an innate desire to follow him.

He brings me down to a spacious open plan area, and sits me on the sofa as he walks over to the kitchen. I take the time to properly survey the room, the walls a cold white but everything else a mishmash of bright colours with influences from every continent. I think with dismay that it looks like something Missy would have very much liked to live in, if she earned enough money. Fox, or David, returns to me and hands me an iPad. On the screen is a picture of the both of us when my hair was shorter and redder. It doesn't look like a candid photo of us taken at a crime scene nor was it one from my personal collection. We're standing close together in the FBI headquarters hallway, and I'm struck with how intimate it appears to be. He taps the screen once and we come alive, our voices hushed as we discuss government conspiracies and alien babies. There's music playing in the background, soft, sad violins, and suddenly it cuts to us walking down the hallway. I recognise a few faces of the agents among us and the suit I'm wearing. I see myself walk into Skinner's office as if I were standing in the corner and watching, and the camera pans to show us sitting down in our seats simultaneously. It cuts several times, onto my face and Mulder's, Skinner's... It hits me harder than I thought it would.

I'm watching a fucking TV show - and I'm the star. 

I pause the video and push the iPad away from my lap. "This has to be a dream. I can't be awake. This cannot be happening. This is not happening." I'm reminded of the last time I said those four words and I choke back a sob, my hand resting down on my stomach as I contemplate the idea that my son was only some sort of plot device and wasn't real to begin with. He was no miracle pregnancy, he was just the product of some bored, old, white man in a room somewhere in a universe that I didn't understand. David stands up next to me and he pushes me into his chest. 

"Ssh, it's okay. It's okay." I kick myself for being calmed down so easily by a man who is best described as a familiar stranger. "Baby it's alright. Let's get you some coffee if you're not going to sleep. Shit, maybe this is my dream. Pinch me." He tries to laugh with me but my nose is still buried into his naked body and tears drop from my eyes, mourning the loss of people who never really existed. 

"I'm so confused..." He drags me over to the kitchen counter and keeps me in his sight as he fetches mugs from an overhead cupboard, then spinning quickly to turn on an electric kettle. "So... you never told me where I am." I sniffle quietly and try and focus on the here and now rather than the what and why. He looks back at me as he spoons fresh coffee into a cafetière. 

"You're in Islington, London. In Gillian's apartment." He gages my reaction but all I do is nod blindly and not process that information. 

"And do you live here too?"

"No, I live in New York, but I come over to London frequently."

"For work, or for her?" He stops what he's doing and looks at me then. In the distance I can hear the kettle ding as it boils but he doesn't move, just watching me. 

"For her. Everything is for her." I nod again and he resumes his morning preparations, pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee and securing the lid. He sits down opposite me on what I assume is a breakfast bar. 

"Have you been together this entire time? From the nineties until now?" I look down at his left hand and spot a tattoo where his ring should be, but the fact they don't live together confuses me. 

"We've known each other since the nineties. We've always had... something." He places his sight anywhere other than me and I can see him collecting his thoughts in the same way Mulder would. "It started off as sex in between takes. We didn't much care for monogamy. It didn't matter whether you were married, or I was married, or we were both married. We always had sex, although that's all it was for a long time. You see, we didn't get on. I think we spent too much time together and we were put under too much pressure. Some days, we wouldn't speak at all but I'd still find myself knocking on her trailer door for a quick fuck." He pauses and looks at me but I listen to his story with a level of detachment so my expression is unaffected by the implications of his words. "Anyway when the show ended, which was around 2002, we lost touch pretty much. She moved to London, I stayed with my wife and kids in America. We met again in 2008 for the movie."

"The movie?!" I interrupt his story and his focus snaps back to me. He nods his head and chuckles. "Just how popular was this show?" 

"You have no idea." He pushes down the filter on the cafetière and begins pouring the hot liquid into the mugs. He puts one more sugar in his than Mulder did. "We became friends, we kept in touch even after the filming ended." He stops again and looks puzzled at our cups of coffee. "I'm sorry but I don't quite know how you take it."

My gaze falls on the black coffee and I remind myself that not only do I not know the man in front of me, but I don't know how much he knows of me. "Two sugars and one cream. Milk is fine though."

He resumes his coffee making and his story. "Anyway about two years ago we met up again, and everything that had happened in the past... it had mellowed. We had both mellowed. The sex started again, whenever we were in the same country, and before I knew it, I was booking flights over to London with the sole intent of just seeing her. And the rest is history."

"So you two are dating now?" I reach for my coffee after he'd finished stirring and take a sip.

"Yes. It's not easy because we don't see each other often, but we're exclusive... I love her." This time I nod in reply, and I'm grateful that I can hide my face in my mug. I wasn't sure what I expected or my reaction to him, but hearing Mulder's voice say he was in love with someone other than me wounded me deep like a stab to my heart. 

"I'm... happy for you." We simultaneously take a gulp from our coffee and he sets his down on the countertop before us.

"Yeah... it took us even longer to get together than you and Mulder!" He laughs but even I can tell that it's forced and I give him a tight lipped smile above the rim of my coffee cup. "Something tells me you and Mulder aren't okay at the moment, are you?" 

I thank god that not every ounce of my life has been broadcast to the millions, and the last they saw of me was 6 years ago. For a second I worry about how much they have seen of me. Did they watch us have sex? 

"No... we're, uh, not together anymore." He stares at me a little and a line of confusion appears on his forehead.

"I didn't think... I didn't think that would be the case. You and Mulder... your love... your devotion to each other..." He takes another sip of his drink as he struggles for the right words. "It's almost envious. You were made for each other. I can't believe I'm actually having this conversation, but you can't break up!" He sweeps his hands out in front of him in a melodramatic way that Mulder would, and I see the similarities between the two of them. I wonder whether Mulder gave his characteristics to David or David gave his characteristics to Mulder. He becomes less animated and almost melancholy, his finger tracing the handle of his mug. "I was always jealous of you both. I wanted that love for myself and I found that spark with Gillian but it just couldn't work. I married someone else and I learned to love her but I never felt like I loved her like Mulder loved Scully. But then again, I don't think anyone in real life could love like Mulder and Scully did."

I wince at his choice of words. Real life. Because my life wasn't real. It was fake; conceived from some asshole who apparently loved to write me into situations where only my heart and bones would break. And yet here I was, in a world where I only existed on television screens, but I could hear and see and breathe through someone else's body. I think back to last night where I was curled up in my armchair in a world where people knew me for who I really was. A world where my Mulder was crazily obsessing over everything paranormal. I chuckle to myself at the thought of what he'd say about this situation that I find myself in now. He'd probably pay for me to go through this experience, just so at the end he could shout 'I told you so' as I failed to find any logical explanation.

_The cube._

My mind jumps to it automatically and I almost kick myself for not thinking about it earlier. That damn cube and that damn couple from damn Atlanta. David looks as tense as I am as he sees my white knuckles grasp the end of the bar. 

"I think I know why I'm here. Mulder brought me this cube last night. He said a couple from Atlanta had sent it him, claiming it was behind an 'out of body experience'. They said something about synodic cycles or something." I'm already walking towards the sofa, picking up the discarded iPad and searching online when he joins me, holding both mugs of now luke warm coffee. Within a few minutes I'm on a site that digitally predicts the planetary alignments and I stare with horror at Mercury and Earth. 

"116 days." 

"What?"

"They aligned sometime last night. Mercury and Earth. And they don't re-align for another 116 days." He nods as if he has any idea about what I'm talking about and I drop the iPad once more, pacing the space in front of him. "116 days. 116 days." I'm mumbling to myself now and I'm pretty sure I'm scaring David as he sits there with a blank expression on his face. I probably scared him an hour ago actually.

His eyes divert from me and it's only until I feel small arms wrapped around my legs that I realise what caught his attention. I look down and there's a young boy no older than six years old dangling from my lower body with sleepy eyes and a toothy grin. 

"Good morning Mum." 

He yawns and I realise this is going to be a very long 116 days.


	3. Chapter 3

Two. That's how many cups of coffee I've had and how many children David has introduced me to. Oscar and Felix. Felix is currently sitting on the floor in front of me, in between my legs, happily munching his way through Nutella on toast. Oscar on the other hand is leaning on my shoulder, his body on the verge of sleep, and I have to keep nudging him awake so he doesn't fall head first into his cereal bowl. The date on the newspaper reads 12th February 2014. It's a Wednesday, and I'm glad the school day will give me some time alone from these children who call me their mother. 

"Mum?" It's Oscar who breaks the silence and I can see his hand come in front of his mouth to stifle a yawn. "Do I have to go to school today?" He looks up at me with blue eyes that look like my own and I give him a smile although inside my heart is breaking.

"Yes... honey." I'm not sure how to act around these children, but he goes back to his cereal without a complaint so at least I know I had said something along the right lines. Felix has finished his toast and he's licking the Nutella off his plate, drumming his feet slightly against the floor. "Felix, if you're finished with your plate, go put it in the kitchen for me please." He stands up and toddles off in the direction of the kitchen and I wonder what the hell this woman has been doing to make her children so well behaved.

I hear the heavy steps of David walking back into the room, now appropriately clothed, and I watch him take the plate from Felix's unsteady hands and put it into the dishwasher. Then he leans down and scoops Felix up into his arms, the room filling with the sound of delighted young giggles. Oscar's interest has moved from his breakfast and I have to catch his cereal as he erratically places it down on the table to rush over towards the fun. I take a few moments to compose myself and I finally turn around.

David's standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, Oscar thrown over his shoulder and Felix using his entire body as a climbing frame. I smile despite myself at the sight of seeing someone very much like Mulder seem so full of life. It only takes a few seconds for my thoughts to become plagued with the memory of our own lost children. I see Mulder crouching on the ground, his face contorted to mimic Mr Potato Head for our daughter. I don't know when I started to refer to Emily as both my daughter and Mulders'. I think the revelation came many years after she had died, whilst I was curled up against Mulder's chest, the soft sounds of the radio drifting through our new house. After years of being on the run, we'd finally settled down and bought a house in the middle of nowhere, under my name, and I couldn't help but let my mind wander to what our lives would have been like if we had our children. I knew Mulder would have accepted Emily into his life without qualms just because she was _mine._ He would have been a father to her, plain and simple, and it became selfish of me to only think of her as mine. When she died she left a whole in both of our hearts, just as William did. A shriek brings me out of my reverie and I can see Felix now hanging upside down by his feet, his body slightly swaying.

"Mum! Help me!" His words are interrupted by giggles and I can see Oscar scramble his way onto David's shoulders, tickling his poor younger brother's feet. David looks up at me and his smile fades at my expression. He carefully sets Felix down at the floor, and Oscar is next, sliding down his back until his feet touch the ground. I can see Felix rushing to his feet and David tries to grab his arm before his bounds over to me but he's too fast. "Mum you didn't help!" He kneels onto the sofa and buries his head into my neck, his arms trying to wrap themselves around my shoulders. My body tenses and I hold my breath, my eyes squeezing shut, trying to hide the emotions that are threatening to spill out onto my cheeks. He doesn't notice that my arms haven't held him into my own embrace, or that I don't tilt my head towards his, or maybe he does as his arms become tighter and he places a small kiss on my cheek. He draws back and looks me in the eye. "You're not feeling well today, are you Mum?" I have no chance to reply as he places a wet peck on my lips. "That's okay Mummy. I still love you lots and lots."

Oscar pipes up from the other side of the room where he's found a set of toy dinosaurs to play with on the dining table. "I love you more Mum!"

"No you don't!"

"I'm older than you so I've loved her longer!" Tongues are stuck out at each other as I feel David peel Felix away from me and I almost miss the comfort that his small arms gave me. 

"Don't be silly, you both love your Mother equal amounts. Now go upstairs and get ready for school like the big boys I know you are. Your Mum's just sleepy that's all. I promise to take care of her whilst you're upstairs." David's rational voice calms me amongst the sea of juvenile squeals. Felix takes one last look at me before sulking off in the direction of the stairs with Oscar in tow. David walks over to me and his hands rest on my shoulders, his face tilting towards mine. "I'm going to take the boys to school today. When I come home, we're taking you to the hospital."

I find myself yearning for Mulder's whimsical theories and I ditch my strict rationalism in an attempt to feel closer to him. "There's no point. They did those tests on the Mr Chaudhri and they came up with nothing." I almost sound hysterical as I close the gap between us, standing up so that our height difference isn't so severe. "We should look online... see if there's anyone who could help us. Do you know if there's an equivalent to the X-Files division in your universe? A department in the FBI or at the Met? Maybe we could ask them for their opinion. I need to get out of this place." I mumble that last bit for my benefit only and begin to make a beeline for the iPad for the third time today. His tight grip on my arms halts my movements.

"Stop this. I cannot deal with this. You're going to hospital Gillian. They'll give you some scans, they'll sort out your head, and then maybe you can come back home and look your sons in the eye without feeling some sort of misplaced empathy for a woman who doesn't even exist." His eyes are burning with an intense anger that scares me slightly and I try to move back out of his personal space but I feel rooted in the spot he's given me. "You must have hit your head in the night or something... You are not Scully. You are Gillian and I really, really, really want to get this fixed." I stare dumbfounded at him and I feel tears start to form in the corner of my eyes against my better judgement. He sees the hurt in my face and his forehead presses against mine. "I love you, and I know you're in there somewhere. The sooner we sort this all out, the better off we'll all be." I slip my eyes shut as his lips press against mine in a chaste kiss. "Go get dressed baby." I wordlessly follow his orders, my mind swimming.

What if I am dreaming? Or what if I was dreaming before? What if Dana Scully is just a dream and Gillian Anderson is the reality? I pad into the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. I twirl my hair between my fingers and remember the last time I had blonde hair, when Mulder and I had a different motel room to sleep in every night, when we had false names and only spoke in hushed tones. I drop the robe and step into the shower, which unsurprisingly is already set at the right temperature. I stand under the downpour and let the water wash away my worries and mask my tears as I cry for a life I may have never lived. I cry for the loss of my Mulder, and I know I will never find solace in the kind man that could be his double. 

Outside the shower I silently thank the god that the mirrors on the wall are fogged. I don't think I could deal with the reality of looking at my reflection and seeing someone I don't recognise for even another second. In the distance I can hear the sound of the front door slamming and I suddenly feel more alone than I ever have before. My brain goes onto autopilot, sifting through drawers and cupboards for a spare change of clothes. I open the oriental cupboard and see a surprising amount of dresses, all sorts of colours and lengths and it is only until I venture into her beside tables that I find stacks of neatly folded t-shirts and jeans. Our styles aren't very similar - her comfort clothes are comfier than mine, and her formal clothes bore labels of brands I either hadn't heard of or couldn't afford on my salary. I wonder back into the bathroom, finding a spare toothbrush underneath her sink. The biologist inside of me knows that technically, if we _are_ the same person, our DNA would be the same, or at least the same as when I was younger, and therefore our saliva would be exactly the same. But in my eyes, we are not the same person, and different people use different toothbrushes. 

I'm bending over the bowl to spit when I feel a gentle weight settle on my thigh. I shoot up and straighten my back, toothpaste smeared over my lips. David is standing there with keys dangling from his fingers, an almost guilty look on his face. I've seen that look many times, it's the same one Mulder gives me when we go for a nice trip to the forest. I forego wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and I fish for a small towel off the back of the door, trying to save some dignity. His eyes drift down my body and I clear my throat, standing nervously awaiting his eventual leer. 

"Why did you choose that t-shirt?" I look down at the graphic tee that I am wearing and look back up at him.

"It was the first one I saw." His fingers rake through his hair and he deflates slightly.

"So... there was no particular reason behind it? Just, luck?" He steps forward and his free hand that isn't anxiously jiggling keys twines itself with mine and I'm too entranced in the familiar feeling to pull back. "It didn't jog anything for you?" His thumb drifts over my palm and I have an unconscious urge to fit my body against his in the bathroom of his lover, but instead I drop my hand to my side and look to the ground, shaking my head. I hear his sigh and the hand that was outstretched towards me, yearning for comfort, is now ruffling through his hair again as he looks at anywhere other than me. "Your sneakers are downstairs... we should probably go to a doctor now." I nod lightly and push past him through the narrow doorway.

My fingers are occupied with lacing my shoes when I hear him open the front door, a gentle reminder that I really can't get out of this. I'm not looking forward to the incredulous looks I'll get from every medical professional we'll end up seeing today. I try to imagine myself seeing someone like me as the patient... an actress convinced that she is her character - I don't think I would have bought it either. "I'm just coming." I stand up on shaky legs and walk past him into the cloudy London landscape. It's a nice area outside, with enough people to seem busy yet not crowded. I had only been in England once before, with just a two day stay in it's capital. I'd told Mulder once that I wanted to see Oxford and what he called his home for a few years of his life. He surprised me with tickets the next day and we'd spent a generous two weeks in a small cottage just outside of Oxfordshire.

His hand grabs mine in a firm hold as I stand waiting for him to follow and he practically drags me towards the car, stopping just before the doors. His fingers trail up my arm and cup my cheek and he swoops down to press a soft kiss against my lips. I have to fight to stay in control and not open my mouth to his ministrations, but as soon as my resolve weakens, he's back to standing up straight, fitting sunglasses over his eyes.

"If you're fucking with me, now's the time to give up the game." I say nothing as I watch the muscles in his arms flex as he reaches for the passenger door. "I'll take you to your GP. We can tell her what has happened and she'll refer you to people who can help." He buckles in next to me and puts the car into gear, his hands braced on the steering wheel. He turns to me and studies my face for a moment. With the sunglasses covering his eyes I can't read his emotions too well but he seems pensive. "Whoever the fuck you are, you're not Gillian, because she would have kicked my ass for getting in the driver's seat." I manage a small smile to mirror his own and he begins to pull into the street. 

"I wouldn't have known where to go." He huffs out a laugh that I suspect is more out of mirth rather than humour. I look forward and watch the old brick buildings with white stone detailing pass by us. My foot taps against the floor of the car even in the absence of music, and it spurs David to reach over and flick on the radio, classical music being shortly replaced by the sounds of Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway To Heaven' drifting peacefully through the car.

"She wouldn't have let me do that either. No one touches her music. Not even me." He has a whimsical smile on his face as he stops for a red light and I decide to engage in some small talk to pass the time.

"So does she like to be in control of things?" I find it strange to be asking questions about a person who's body I'm using currently. He laughs again and I feel like I've hit the nail on the head. Maybe we weren't so different after all.

"And then some. Gillian's always been a very spontaneous, unpredictable person, but she likes to be in control of her actions, no matter how unpredictable those actions are. She likes for people to think she can cope on her own, which she can, for the most part." I watch him recount the personality of a woman who I have never known and I wonder if Mulder looks like that when people ask him about me. "But it often means she refuses help for even the most mundane things, like driving. And she doesn't like change." He pauses for a second. "No sorry, that's wrong. She thrives on change and fresh starts, it's more... compromise to change her daily rituals that she isn't so fond of."

"Hence the music." I nod in understanding and he glances at me from behind his sunglasses. 

"Yes. Although she's not controlling. I'm sure if I asked to do things she'd oblige me... but I'm sure there aren't many people she'd afford the luxury of that to." He laughs to himself and it's probably the first time I've heard Mulder genuinely laugh in years. "It's probably after putting up with me and my demands for so long. She doesn't like being viewed as inferior, especially to jackasses like me. She's a lot like you in that way, huh?" I nod and turn to the passenger window as I mull over his words. So far I'm not sure where Gillian ends and Dana begins and I decide that I've learnt enough about her until the doctor's force more information down my throat. My eyes slip shut and I let the slight rumble of the car beneath me rock me into a nap.

I wake to the feel of David's finger brushing against the tip of my nose and I scrunch my face up to escape the tickling. I look over at him leaning forward in the driver's seat, and if it weren't for the steering wheel being on the opposite side of the car, I could have convinced myself that this man was indeed my Mulder.

"We're here." His words however bring me back to the devastating situation that I'm having to learn as reality, and I start to unbuckle my seat belt. His hand covers mine on the buckle and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I realise that David is about as tactile with Gillian as Mulder is with me and I warm at the familiar feel of his calloused palm pressed lightly against my cheek. "I want to kiss you." His words are small and I imagine that if I wasn't listening for them I wouldn't have heard them. My lips part slightly even though I don't know whether it's to voice a protest or to invite the delicate taste of his mouth into mine. This man may look like my Mulder, but he isn't my Mulder, and I'm not the Gillian that he is so desperately hoping I will be. His hand curves around my neck and he pulls my head closer to his as we lean towards each other over the gear box. I know that as soon as that pouty bottom lip drags itself across my own flesh I would be a woman lost to a sensation that she hasn't felt in months. It only takes one rational thought for me to draw back, even though our lips were mere millimetres apart.

"I'm not her." He nods in understanding and gives me an apologetic smile that makes me regret my previous actions. How I want to kiss away the worry lines on his forehead and rediscover the parts of his body that have been missing from my travels for so long. I open the door and step outside, walking towards the medical practice entrance, before I can let my starved libido make a decision that I know I would ultimately regret. Within seconds I feel his hand rest itself on the spot on my lower back that I have all but named "property of Mulder", and my mind is torn between letting him prolong the contact or asking him to stop. In the end, I am a weaker woman that I thought I was, and I find myself slowing my pace so his palm presses into me with more intensity, his fingers spreading wider along my back making the skin there heat up.

I notice the clinic we have walked into seems to be a private practice, and I suddenly feel very under dressed, as most of the other patients seem to be taking breaks from their high end jobs in order to have an appointment. At least, I hope they don't dress like that for everyday purposes. I take a seat next to a suited man who's important enough to have his own name stamped into his briefcase with gold leaf. David goes straight to the receptionist who dresses better than even the most preppy FBI agents I've seen skulking down the hallways of the FBI headquarters. She appears to shake her head slightly and it's only she glances at me that she suddenly smiles and writes something down. He stumbles on his way over to me and I move my hand to cover my mouth as I smile at him clear his throat and straighten his shirt. Even if he has more weight than my Mulder, he is every bit as lanky. He slouches in the chair next to mine and leans towards my ear, his whispers raising the hair on the back of my neck.

"We've managed to nab the emergency appointment with your GP in half an hour." My nerves get the better of me and my hand scrambles for his, hanging onto the only connection I have to a world that I used to belong to. He may not be my Mulder but he sure damn looks like him and right now, that's all the comfort I need. He seems taken a back and his eyebrows raise but he doesn't question my actions, only pulls my hand further onto his lap, forcing my head to rest against his shoulder. I imagine where my Mulder would be at this moment and I imagine him lying down on our sofa, probably only a few hours into his nightly nap. His clothes would still hang off his wilting frame and his arm would probably be dangling on the floor, brushing against the rug we picked out together. The TV would definitely be on, the laptop too, most likely precariously balancing on the edge of the coffee table. There'd be a few magazines, a lot of newspapers, even more clippings. 

When the secretary calls my name I cling harder to David. He stands up but I bring his head closer to mine, my lips accidentally brushing against the shell of his ear. "What if I'm stuck here forever?" He moves back and sprays my knuckles with small kisses.

"You won't be."

And his words are all I'm left with as I'm lead down a dimly lit corridor, fastened to the man who is everything and nothing like the one who I wish was in my arms.


End file.
